


In Sorrow

by bbissocute



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Slender Man Mythos
Genre: Family, Gen, Gore, Horror, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:58:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1439260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbissocute/pseuds/bbissocute
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When things are bad, we take comfort in the thought that they could always be worse. And when they are, we find hope in the thought that things are so bad they have to get better." Inspired by "Slender" by Gemini Star01. FACE Family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Slender](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/44140) by Gemini Star01. 



> Before we begin, I have a few notes:  
> 1) I am reposting this story here so that I can make edits that I have been wanting to for nearly 4 years now (gosh, has it really been that long?), and since ff.net is very often frustrating when it comes to reposting old chapters and all the cool kids seem to be over here nowadays, I figured I'd try this out. I will finish posting new chapters as they come over on ff.net as well, but this version will likely be the cleanest of the two. Feel free to compare and contrast. My biggest qualm is the structure of the first four chapters, for which I will be editing viciously (with any luck). I apologize in advance if they still come off as choppy, I will do my best without having to rewrite it word for word.
> 
> 2) Hopefully we all know who Slender Man is, but if you don't, I recommend looking him up before beginning. Not required, but background is always nice. Since he will be the villain, be aware there will be mutilation, at least in select parts (ie the first chapter). The story will mostly take a reactionary stance (ie characters react to events) rather than a largely action based story. Not to say there won't be action, but it's no action fic, so if that's what you're looking for, don't be too disappointed.
> 
> 3) As mentioned in the summary, this work is based off another fanwork (a fanfic of a fanfic, inception-fic, if you will) by Gemini Star01 (https://www.fanfiction.net/u/264413/Gemini-Star01). I do recommend the fic immensely. It will not be required to understand the following story as I tried my upmost to make any details necessary aware throughout, but it does begin in medias res (ie in the middle of the action) and it's always nice to have background. For a quick summary for those who don't have time to read it now or have read it a loooooong while ago:
> 
> Alfred and Matthew head up to Matt's cabin so Alfred can film spring killing winter (always the drama king, that one), when weird stuff starts happening. Slendy shows up, scares the bejesus out of Alfred, but Matt doesn't believe him. Matt ends up getting controlled, Slendy tortures Alfred for a key to the cabin (as the doors won't open in or out without it; old locks), and before things get out of hand, everything (mostly) works out. This fic will be of what could happen had things gone slightly differently at the climax of the story. There is a key sentence in Gemini's fic, chapter four, which pretty much sums it up. But I won't spoil it for you.
> 
> 4) I promise from this moment on, notes will not be this long ever.

Chapter 1-Discovery 

* * *

The boy had pushed him too far. His rage finally gave way to giddiness as he watched the scene unfold. The monster outside the window danced happily as he observed his puppet carry out his will, pulling and tearing the flesh and blood that belonged to the controlled's brother. He gleefully swayed as his marionette ripped a single ice-blue eye from its socket and displayed it merrily before the helpless, whimpering mass held in the chair.

A breeze of anger flared again; this man's reaction was not what he had hoped for. He had _hoped_ for screams, pleading terrified cries, but all he received instead was silence and the occasional moan that escaped the man's tightly clasped lips throughout the event. Disappointing, to say the least.

He forced his pawn to put on his unseen, sickeningly manic grin and stared down at the trembling figure in the chair. The doll brandished the eye at the bound man, and in one swift motion, crushed it. Frenzied laugher escaped the Slenderman's invisible lips, and was echoed by his shadow in the house.

Satisfactorily amused, he allowed his control to slip from the purple-eyed twin. He sunk to the floor with a delightful thud. Slenderman, bored of this game for now, and knowing there would be nothing interesting to see for several hours, decided to take his leave. He would return when the time was right.

* * *

As Matthew slumped to the floor, panic seized Alfred's heart. He glanced towards the window, towards the monster, but found it empty. He waited only a moment before calling to the boy quietly.

"Mattie?" He did not respond. Alfred struggled at his bonds, attempting to loosen them to reach his brother, sprawled out on the floor. They were too tight, he knew already, far too strong for him to break through. He didn't know if that was because of some magic the monster put on the ropes to bind his strength, or if Matthew was simply an amazing knot securer.

Fearfully he called to his brother again, louder and louder each progressive time. He could feel his throat becoming raw with exertion, but he frantically spoke his brother's name until after several hours it was nothing more than a broken whisper. The pain, the loss, the emptiness of the entire affair finally hit him then, with nothing more than his own grating calls to distract him from the quiet lonesome of the cabin.

He feared for his brother slumped against the floor (hopefully) unconscious, which he could only see an outline of thanks to his glasses being removed previous. His eyes, or what had once been his right one (as it was no longer where it should have been, he shuddered to himself) stung in the air as the warm blood that dripped down from his forehead slid down his cheek, cooling as it went. He did his best to ignore the emptiness on the right side of his face; he couldn't think of that now.

Alfred was silent for a long time. With the pain constricting upon him, his dread for his silent brother consuming his rational responses, he felt the dam of emotions he had been holding back through this terrifying event break. Tears found their way down his face before he could protest, and he shook with each heaved breath in attempts to calm himself.

Eventually, from both physical and mental exhaustion, Alfred slept.

* * *

Matthew felt dazed. His eyes were tired, and he was reluctant to wake them. He breathed in, an odd smell filling his nostrils, one heavy and bitter, and a coppery taste coated his mouth. Light danced behind his eyelids, teasingly goading him to move if he wanted to remain comfortable. He heard a soft voice, someone saying his name. He ignored, favoring sleep.

Shuffling his knees up, he curled into a ball on the hard surface. It certainly wasn't his warm bed. Why would he be anywhere else? Reluctantly, he peeked his eyes open just the slightest. He looked through his filthy glasses as he took in his surroundings with a sleepy stare.

It appeared he was indeed on the ground, of which he recognized after a second as the flooring to his cabin. A vague memory flittered across his mind of coming up with Al for the weekend to help him with his nature film…

The voice grated against his ears again, drawing his eyeline towards the source. A pair of feet stared back at him, and through the dim morning light, he could see the vague shape of a person towering in a chair before him.

" _Oh, thank God, Mattie, you're awake!"_ the voice exclaimed hoarsely. He acknowledged it as belonging to his brother, and he glared through the diffuse light in attempts to see him clearly.

The back of his head pounded, and Matthew pulled his fingers from the floor to check it. His hand was covered in a sticky liquid, and couldn't identify much, so he dropped it to rest against the ground once again, adjusting his fingers to avoid them from catching against it. He felt with his opposite hand, which was clean, and reaffirmed it was nothing more than a large, tender bump.

"You alright, Matt? You hit the floor pretty hard. How are you feeling? You okay?" Alfred's voice flittered back towards him, the sound of gravel heavy in his throat. Matthew looked up to reassure him softly.

"Al, I'm just fi-"

Enough light had filtered through the musty window now to illuminate the room, revealing a monstrous scene before Matthew.

Alfred, with a look of relief and exhaustion, looked down on him, the front of his shirt soaked in the blood that drained down his face from the right side. Resting above the stream gaped a dark hole, so very empty compared to its blue brother sitting just centimeters away.

Matthew choked on his words.


	2. Acrimony

Chapter 2-Acrimony

* * *

It was gone.

The entire thing.

Just gone.

_How could it be gone?_

Faintly, Matthew heard Alfred's voice raise an octave, calling to him again, questioning his wellbeing, but he couldn't bring himself to break away from the horrific sight. A sharp twist stabbed his gut, causing Matthew to pale more as the question registered against the back of his shaken mind.

_What monster could have done this?_

Slowly, he could feel heat seep through him as anger flushed against his cheeks. Some beast had carved out his brother's eye. He would kill the son of a bitch. He would hunt him down and destroy him. He would _make him pay_ …

Alfred had quieted. This troubled Matthew. Alfred was never quiet. He refocused on his brother’s nervous expression, shifting towards him carefully.

A sudden clang of metal startled them both. Matthew jumped, skittering back away from the bloody knife he disturbed as he crawled forward. The monstrous weapon lingered there, gloatingly smeared with the red-brown stains. Matthew swallowed a growl as he glared towards the retched thing.

Looking back up at Alfred, he noted the awkward position of his arms against the back of the chair. Of course, he was tied, that should have been obvious. Quickly standing and defiantly avoiding the bloodied carver, Matthew strode to his brother's side and began working on the knots that held him captive.

The American man’s wrists were raw, wrapped tightly in coarse rope and a bike chain, looped around and tied in place to reinforce the bindings. His arms were bruised along the sides, creating macabre patterns in line with the chair’s hard wood.

Gently he tugged the looser ends, hoping to prevent any further pain his brother might feel. A twinge of guilt peaked in his chest, still swimming in rage and apprehension. Whatever had kept him from being there for his twin, whatever had prevented him from stopping whoever had done this, he would not let it happen again.

Alfred turned partially in the chair, despite the movement stirring an involuntary wince as it dragged on his injuries. The man forced a concerned grimace over the pained expression he held before, meeting Matthew’s eyes with relief.

“Matt, you’ve been out for hours, I was afraid…” he tried to clear his thick throat, but the effort went unrewarded, and he continued, “Well, I’m just happy you’ve come around. I was real worried for a while, you hit the ground so hard….Are you okay? You’re not bleedin’ or anything right?"

Perhaps it was callus of him, but Matthew did not answer his twin’s questioning, focusing more on his internal beratements. He knew Alfred needed to talk, this was his way of handling stress. It helped him keep sane. Besides, Matthew could care less about his own health at the moment. He was cognizant enough to fix this now, and so he would. Everything else could wait.

True to form, the American continued his one sided discussion without any input from his brother, and while the focus of the discussion was the Canadian’s wellbeing, it revolved around simple observations rather than requested information.

Frustration crept through Matthew as he struggled with the knots. Nothing he was doing seemed to make it any better, and judging by the occasional twitch his brother gave, he was only causing more suffering.

Fuming, the Canadian threw down the knots and glared over Alfred's shoulder. His eyes met with the one thing he didn't want to ever look at again; the instrument that caused his twin so much agony sat on the thick carpet, taunting him.

Hesitantly, he started for it. Matthew didn't want to touch the thing, didn't want to be anywhere near it, but if it would free his brother's binds…He had to try.

* * *

Alfred would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous at his brother’s movements towards the blood soaked carver. The swift deliberate motion the man used was tense and angry, not something he was use to seeing in his gentle northern twin. It reminded him too much of the previous night, and he suppressed a shudder.

"Mattie…?" he tried, not sure if Matthew heard the frozen whisper that choked up his throat.

The man walked around behind Alfred, ignoring the stuttered response; he felt the pressure again on his wrists. After a moment or two, the thick rope fell with a thud to the ground. Alfred's shoulders, which had been pulled back so long they had lost all feeling, dipped forward and allowed the soreness to seep back in. Gently, he rubbed his raw wrists.

There was a sharp clamor as the knife was slung somewhere in the corner and he heard Matthew sit down behind him. The previous anxious wave evaporated as a new concern met the American; his appearance.

Knowing this was probably the only chance he would get to check himself, Alfred put a hand to the right side of his face. It was still wet, but he could feel the crimson liquid beginning to crust over. Fear from Matthew's reaction to him before, how silent he had been since waking, the knowledge that the last thing he needed to do was to scar his sensitive brother with his less than “PG” complexion, Alfred painfully began to wipe the blood off his stinging face onto his ruined shirt.

It was a difficult job, with how tender the entire area was, but he got most of it off with ease, the wound still damp, flaking around the edges. It was beginning to heal, as the blood had stopped dripping down his cheek, but still much too raw to do anything with. Figuring it was about time to recapture his brother's attention, he attempted a relaxed tone.

"Ugh, that feels so much better. Didn't realize I was this stiff before…" he said, addressing Matthew as he nonchalantly stretched his arms; his tenor was as cheerful as he could muster, given his aching throat. Best to move forward, dwelling on the situation wouldn’t help, neither the emotional emptiness he felt hedging his own psyche nor the fear he could sense from Matthew. There would be time to dwell later; now was time to prepare. Better to act like it didn’t happen than break down and make it worse on the both of them...

He would be careful to meet his twin with only the clean, whole side of his face, he decided. The Canadian did not need more of this memory than was necessary burnt into him forever. He would clean himself up as soon as possible, to put this out of both their minds. Right now he needed Matthew’s attention, needed him to answer his questions before about his wellbeing. If he could focus on his brother, just for a moment, just get his mind on something productive…

Turning, Alfred couldn't help but forget his words as he faced his brother, pale and horrified, staring down vacantly at his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, at least the formatting is much better this time around. Unfortunately had to sacrifice the deeper character understanding gleaned from the previous style of back and forth, but it flows so much better now, and I feel the small changes to dialogue and description carry over most of that original connotation.


	3. Recollection

Chapter 3-Recollection

* * *

A hollow thud rebounded the room as the rope and chain fell away; Matthew slung the knife as far away from himself as he could, rebounding in the corner with a muffled "clank." He exhaled a shaky breath, drooping down to the floor haphazardly. The stress of the situation was beginning to affect him, the adrenaline the anger fueled before waning, leaving a muted fearful sensation. Glancing up at his brother's head, he noted the blood-matted hair clinging to the back of his scalp. Fury flared once more.

What kind of monster could be capable of this? How had it gone so far? Where had he been?? He should have stopped this…he should have done something to prevent his brother’s suffering…Something…

Matthew tried to think back, think of what he remembered about yesterday. He had left to go get groceries, because they had nearly run out, and he remembered it being a fairly long drive…Was Alfred with him? No, no, he had decided to stay back at the house…Said he was going to work on his project, his film…

He remembered Alfred playing a trick on him earlier that day, something to do with a blurry picture of a tall guy or something standing outside the window…Wait.

When he got back. That phone call from Alfred! He remembered, the panic in his voice, telling him not to get out of the car, to drive away…And then…And then the man, only he wasn't a man, he came and ripped him out of the car, and then everything was dark…

He must have been the one…What had that thing done to him, to cause his memory loss? Matthew certainly wasn’t injured, certainly nowhere near his twin’s state. Why only hurt Alfred? Whatever “benefit” could be found from mutilating his brother, it certainly could be gained from himself as well, surely…If he could have spared him some of this pain…Taken on a portion of his burden…If he’d been there, maybe he could have prevented it…

Matthew scrunched up his fingers in frustration; the sticky feeling clung against the carpet, making the movement difficult. Irritated, he brought his hand to rest in front of his face, frustrated with this physical distraction keeping him from working out the answers to what had happened.

He gagged.

His hand was drenched in blood, the rusting hue mixed with a viscous clear substance, pasting his bent digits together. He stretched them apart, crusted copper flakes peeling off with his fingers as the wrenched themselves free.

Matthew knew instantly this did not come from him. He could feel it belonged to his brother. How he was unsure. But he knew, as certainly as the sky was blue, Alfred’s blood stained his hands. His rationalizations, desires to connect the blood to himself, to anyone else, fell short of this revelation. Regardless, he had no severe enough wound to warrant this amount of blood, nor an explanation for the mystery fluid. There were no abrasions on his hand, nothing for the stains to have come from. It was the same blood on the knife. The same blood on Alfred. The same blood… _from_ Alfred…

He tried to vindicate himself, to recall how it had gotten there. Maybe he had tried to help him, to help previous, to stop this. He tried to remember, to prove he had not done anything, _could_ _not_ have done anything to harm his brother.

The only memory Matthew got was of himself, through blurry eyes, smashing a cold metal pipe over his twin's head.

He could hear Alfred through the fog of hysterical thoughts spinning through his mind, calling to him, asking if he was okay, pleading with him to say something. He felt the monstrous hand pull away, being searched. He felt his other arm pull upward, shaken to gain his attention.

When Matthew finally looked up, all he could see was the emptiness.

* * *

Alfred scurried down from the chair to the floor where his brother sat, the horrified expression set in his face. Ice trickled down his throat as dread seeped up it. Frantically he checked his brother's stained hand, searching for the injury that was causing Matthew to look so terrified.

He could find nothing on the drying, bloodstained caked fingers. Something else was wrong. He needed to get Matthew's attention. Grabbing his arms, he tried to pull his brother's focus from his hand.

"Hey, Mattie, what's a matter? Come on, what's wrong? Speak to me, Matt. Matthew! Hey! Look, please, just tell me what's wrong!" Panic prickled in his chest, his thick voice cracking as he went on, from both the emotion and the rawness. Alfred could not lose him now. He needed his brother, he needed him more than anything, to keep him steady, to get through this. If he was taken again…

Finally, very slowly, Matthew looked up. Relief rolled over Alfred. They would get through this. They could get out of this, so long as he could keep Matthew safe from that thing, as long as he could keep his brother with him, aware, they could plan, they could make i—

Matthew's horror-struck yelp broke him instantaneously from the thought. Matthew shoved away, his breathing uneven and eyes wildly boring into his twin’s confused expression.

Alfred's air caught in his throat. Matthew was afraid of him.

His eye. Right.

He shifted so less of his face was visible from the Canadian’s view, unsure of how to proceed. Matthew’s terrified gaze dropped to the gore smeared hand again, his respiratory rate increasing as the seconds passed. The hand trembled, and a whimpering cry grew in the silence. Alfred was still for just a moment longer, heart breaking at the fear he caused his brother, before he quickly swept his twin in his arms, comforting Matthew the only way he knew how to now.

The boy pushed away at first, panicked elbows bracing against Alfred’s chest, his brother’s short inhales hitching with his attempts. The American held, drawing upon his remaining strength to restrain but not restrict. They needed this, the both of them.

The moan slowly turned into deep, hitched sobs, and with the fight in his resistance dying, Matthew eventually let the weight of his despair crumble in his brother's embrace.

It hurt him to see how he had affected his brother, but an ache of optimism bled through; he would make this right. This was something he could do.

Something he would do.

* * *

He was responsible.

He took it.

He did it.

He was the one.

No one else.

Just him.

_He_ was the monster.

As he sobbed into Alfred's shirt, attempting in vain to push himself away, to not hurt him anymore, Matthew tried to tell his brother these things, for he was obviously confused, didn't realize what Matthew had done, what he had taken from him. But he couldn't speak, couldn't force his lips to work, his vocal cords to vibrate, to warn his brother, the one he had harmed.

He tried, so very hard, to break from him, to warn him, to do _something_ , but nothing would come. He was too weak. He wanted the comfort, wanted Alfred to continue to not see him for what he was. For what he had done…

Eventually he gave up; gave up against pushing away, gave up against trying to work his voice, gave up against everything. He just wept. He could do nothing else. Anything else was impossible. How could he…

He could hear his brother speaking to him, attempting to _console_ him. The thought, comforting the assassin!

Alfred tried to reassure him despite this, his soft words dragging against his raw throat, patting gentle circles in his shaking back as he spoke.

"Everything's alright, don't worry. You're safe. Nothing's wrong, everything's okay. I know that wasn't something you've… That…My…I'm sorry you had to see it...I didn't mean for you to…"

As his twin spoke, Matthew distantly listened to the sound of Alfred's voice struggle against his coarse vocal cords. Morbid thoughts began to weave through his mind as the broken sound made its way to him.

Did Alfred yell for him to stop? Did he cry his name, attempt to bring sense to him before _his own brother_ carved out his eye? Did Alfred scream as the blade, the one Matthew had held not so long ago, sliced through his face?

He felt the bile shoot up, away from the sharp, tearing pain in his stomach, just in time for him to push Alfred to the side and heave up whatever rested at the bottom. Tears burned painfully in his eyes and he tried to blink them away. Matthew trembled, his slight frame finding it difficult to maintain balance through the event. He could feel Alfred's hand rhythmically thumping against his back, trying to _sooth_ him…

He gagged up more acid.

Eventually he crawled off, away from the mess he'd made, _the other he hurt,_ curling himself into a small ball. Matthew stared incredulously at his traitorous hands.

He felt Alfred sit next to him. He tried his very best to shift away, to hide himself and become invisible as he'd always been.

But Alfred dragged him back gently; his naïve brother pulled himself over and wrapped his arms around the Monster, hushing him softly. He rocked back and forth with the Fiend sobbing against his chest, so very undeserving of the kindness he showed it. He brushed the wet hair from the Beast's eyes, tried to clean away the tears that slid down its' worthless face with his own soiled hands…

This continued past when Matthew no longer had tears to shed and only hitched, pained sobs uncontrollably left his lips. It lasted longer than his voice held off on him, and through the struggled breaths, he'd manage a single incomprehensible phrase or two before he'd completely break down again. It continued past midday, and into the evening. And the two just sat there, Matthew trying desperately to warn his unassuming brother of what ghastly things he had done while Alfred tried in vain to ease his brother’s mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter tonight. Slight tone shift from the original, especially with Alfred. I think it's key to understand he's trying to keep himself together right now. His defense mechanism is to avoid the problem (I wonder who taught him that...) and focus his energies on helping another rather than helping himself (he doesn't just imagine himself a hero for the fun of it; he's driven to do the right thing, even if that makes him seem like a headstrong idiot. He's coming from a good place...) That and he earnestly doesn't understand Matt remembers (or that he's connected some of the dots, rather). He believes his brother is, well, not weak, but sensitive, someone who would be terribly affected by seeing something so...well. And when Alfred gets an idea in his head...Usually it takes a lot more than subtle hints to get him to recognize the mistake.
> 
> Also, one may note Matthew uses progressively less human terms to refer to himself in the end; this is purposeful...I'll let you ruminate on that.


End file.
